Difference between revisions of "Case 4 (Chatbox Shamus)"

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(The Disjointed Chunks of Plot)
(The new cold open)
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As much as I could be sure that this was evidence that ''something'' was going on in this beach house, right under the client's nose, I didn't figure it was worth sticking around for long to confirm anything else. I crept up the shag basement stairs again, but was only halfway up them when I noticed the door was open. I hadn't recalled leaving it open, but I didn't think I'd remembered to close it either. When I crested the fifth to last step, though, a bright light beamed directly in my face. I ducked on reflex, but the noise I heard was that of a pistol being racked.
 
As much as I could be sure that this was evidence that ''something'' was going on in this beach house, right under the client's nose, I didn't figure it was worth sticking around for long to confirm anything else. I crept up the shag basement stairs again, but was only halfway up them when I noticed the door was open. I hadn't recalled leaving it open, but I didn't think I'd remembered to close it either. When I crested the fifth to last step, though, a bright light beamed directly in my face. I ducked on reflex, but the noise I heard was that of a pistol being racked.
  
"C'mon up, now, I know you're down there," came an authoritative voice. "Get them hands on your head and come out, easy like." There was an engine idling just outside the door, but I couldn't see who was talking. My only real option was to follow directions. The man at the top of the stairs, whose face I still couldn't see by the time I approached, spun me around and put me against the wall by the door. I felt something poking into the back of my head, probably the gun, followed by a man's hand running up and down the sides of my coat and jeans. The very first thing he got out of my pocket was the camera, followed immediately by the case of paper clips, and then the pocket notebook. "Well, boy, wonder what you were gonna do with this?" It sounded like he was sniffing at the leaf. "Hey, McKeown, think we got one for possession here," he called out the door. I didn't hear a reply, only a pair of handcuffs being drawn off of somebody's belt. They snapped tight over my wrists, and I was unceremoniously shoved into the caged back seat of a police cruiser.
+
"C'mon up, now, I know you're down there," came an authoritative voice with a slight Southern drawl. "Get them hands on your head and come out, easy like." There was an engine idling just outside the door, but I couldn't see who was talking. My only real option was to follow directions. The man at the top of the stairs, whose face I still couldn't see by the time I approached, spun me around and put me against the wall by the door. I felt something poking into the back of my head, probably the gun, followed by a man's hand running up and down the sides of my coat and jeans. The very first thing he got out of my pocket was the camera, followed immediately by the case of paper clips, and then the pocket notebook. "Well, boy, wonder what you were gonna do with this?" It sounded like he was sniffing at the leaf. "Hey, McKeown, think we got one for possession here," he called out the door. I didn't hear a reply, only a pair of handcuffs being drawn off of somebody's belt. They snapped tight over my wrists, and I was unceremoniously shoved into the caged back seat of a police cruiser.
  
----
+
=== From a different perspective ===
  
 
''The Pacific Daily News Police Blotter is compiled daily, from data kindly provided by the PSE Police Department. It is edited for readability by PDN's Antonia Travaglia. Suspects' names are not provided by the Department for the sake of privacy, and suspects are presumed innocent until proven guilty in court before a jury.''
 
''The Pacific Daily News Police Blotter is compiled daily, from data kindly provided by the PSE Police Department. It is edited for readability by PDN's Antonia Travaglia. Suspects' names are not provided by the Department for the sake of privacy, and suspects are presumed innocent until proven guilty in court before a jury.''
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The fuck was he doing at the boardwalk? ...I didn't even have to ask. It was another of his cases, he'd tell me. "What have you told them?"
 
The fuck was he doing at the boardwalk? ...I didn't even have to ask. It was another of his cases, he'd tell me. "What have you told them?"
  
"Nothing so far."
+
"Nothing so far."  
  
 
"Good man. Keep that tongue sealed until your public defender shows up. They charge you with anything yet?"
 
"Good man. Keep that tongue sealed until your public defender shows up. They charge you with anything yet?"
  
"Breaking and entering, and possession with intent to distribute." That deadpan grumble of his made it sound less severe than it likely was.
+
"Breaking and entering, and possession with intent to distribute." That deadpan grumble of his made it sound less severe than it likely was. "Half of that's bull, for the record," he said under his breath.
  
 
"Son of a bitch." They were going to turn it into a drug thing, I knew it. Easiest convictions in the county.
 
"Son of a bitch." They were going to turn it into a drug thing, I knew it. Easiest convictions in the county.
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"Listen, Ruby, I don't think I'm gonna have time to wait for a public defender, and you're the only one I can trust with this case. I need you to get in touch with my client."
 
"Listen, Ruby, I don't think I'm gonna have time to wait for a public defender, and you're the only one I can trust with this case. I need you to get in touch with my client."
  
"No no no, Bass, I can't." Shit was too busy around here for me to just come get him on a whim, but beyond that, he still hadn't paid me back for that pro bono case a couple months back. Or the fucking scene he caused in my office the week before. I didn't hate the guy, but I wasn't too keen on jumping back into working with him without ironing out that baggage.
+
"No no no, Bass, I can't, I've got paperwork coming out of my ass." Shit was too busy around here for me to just come get him on a whim, but beyond that, he still hadn't paid me back for that pro bono case a couple months back. Or the fucking scene he caused in my office the week before. I didn't hate the guy, but I wasn't too keen on jumping back into working with him without ironing out that baggage.
  
"You can't? Well, who the hell else am I gonna call?"
+
"You can't? Well, who the hell else am I gonna call?" His voice got louder again in only half a sentence.
  
 
I realized I hadn't actually said any of those things to him. "Here's the thing, alright? You said you'd owe me after last time."
 
I realized I hadn't actually said any of those things to him. "Here's the thing, alright? You said you'd owe me after last time."
  
"That I did."
+
"That I did," he confirmed without a hint of shame.
  
"And here you are, begging another favor."
+
"And here you are, begging another favor, while I'm still trying to play catch-up."
  
 
I heard a sigh over the receiver. "Look, Ruby, at this rate I would fucking die for you to make it up."
 
I heard a sigh over the receiver. "Look, Ruby, at this rate I would fucking die for you to make it up."
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"Again, what profit? Weren't you saying last month that you're barely keeping your rent paid?"
 
"Again, what profit? Weren't you saying last month that you're barely keeping your rent paid?"
  
"You know, Ruby, I'm at a big disadvantage here. I owe you a ton for your help last month, but obviously I don't have a way to do that right now, because I'm ''stuck in a goddamn holding cell!''"
+
"You know, Ruby, I'm at a big disadvantage here. I owe you a ton for your help last month, but obviously I don't have a way to do that right now, because I'm ''stuck in a goddamn holding cell!''" I hated hearing Bass this upset, especially when he was upset at me in particular. That finally flipped my switch.
  
I hated hearing Bass this upset, especially when he was upset at me in particular. That finally flipped my switch. "Boardwalk, you said?"
+
"Boardwalk, you said?"
  
"Somewhere around there, yeah."
+
"Somewhere around there, yeah." It would almost scare me how good he was at sounding calm, after having just yelled at me, but I'd seen scarier things before.
  
 
"Well--" I sensed a dark presence rounding the corner, bright colors coming off the cubicle walls across the aisle. "Ugh. I gotta put you on hold for a sec, don't go anywhere."
 
"Well--" I sensed a dark presence rounding the corner, bright colors coming off the cubicle walls across the aisle. "Ugh. I gotta put you on hold for a sec, don't go anywhere."
  
 
"Don't go any--ha, ha, you're funny! You--" I hit the hold button and set the receiver flat on my desk, just in time for Albert Cervantes to poke his head into my cube.
 
"Don't go any--ha, ha, you're funny! You--" I hit the hold button and set the receiver flat on my desk, just in time for Albert Cervantes to poke his head into my cube.
 +
 +
"Antonia, we need to talk," began the least comforting voice in the world.
 +
 +
"Yeah? What do you think I did this time?" I was making a point of not looking at him. My stare was focused on the typewriter.
 +
 +
"Packet four in this stack. You've got the name completely wrong and there's a typo in the second paragraph."
 +
 +
I folded my arms in front of me. "Just keeping you on your toes. I can't do ''all'' your work for you, y'know, plus if there's any problems with it, it's your name on the line, not mine."
 +
 +
Albert dropped his stack of papers back on my desk. It was the same stack as yesterday, only now with more angry little red marks in the margins. He probably loved every second he spent making those. "Well, you're going to have to do them again."
 +
 +
"Aye-aye, cap'n," I replied with a lazy mock-salute, still not looking at him.
 +
 +
Albert paused for a moment. "What, you're not going to argue about it?"
 +
 +
"No point in it. If I agree with you, it gets you to go away faster."
 +
 +
"I suspect you've got some kind of prior engagement in the works." His half-chrome-dome entered into my field of view. "And I'd bet it has something to do with whoever's waiting for you to pick your phone back up. Is that your boyfriend again?"
 +
 +
"He's not my fucking boyfriend," I began. I wanted to tell him he was in a holding cell, but I couldn't even start the sentence before he grabbed the phone off the desk and jabbed at the Hold button.
 +
 +
He cleared his throat into the mouthpiece. "You've reached the Pacific Daily News. Unfortunately, the person at this desk is unable to spare the time for you right now, so please call back at a later occasion." He dropped the phone onto the hook and watched it bounce and clatter a bit, then spun my chair to face him and looked me directly in the eyes. "Personal phone calls are for personal time, Antonia."
 +
 +
"That wasn't a personal goddamn call." The Heat was beginning to well up in my chest again, and my eye was starting to twitch.
 +
 +
"Not my problem, Antonia. Your boyfriend can call back later."
 +
 +
"He's not my fucking--You just hung up on a detainee in police custody! You know the law around here, he gets one phone call before they put him in the cell!"
 +
 +
"Still not my problem..."
 +
 +
"I don't give a shit if it's your problem or not! You forget what desk I work for? I'll give you a hint, it's not yours!"
 +
 +
"Have these revised and retyped by lunch," said Albert, as he completely ignored me and wandered back to his broom closet.
 +
 +
My entire face, and both of my fists, were scrunched up in pure rage. That fucking asshole ''desperately'' needed to be punched flat, but he had this unfortunate talent for making every incident look like it was my fault. Worse, my "impartial" witness wasn't around to record it for me, because he managed to get thrown in a cell last night. The mountain of paperwork was going to bury me before I had a chance to crawl out from under it, and damn it, Bass needed my help, as much as I thought ''he'' was an asshole, too, for daring to beg another favor without paying the last one back. I don't know. Maybe I'd forgive it all if he'd just take me to dessert or something. Anything to try to spark some happiness in me after so long off my path.
 +
 +
I spun the chair back towards my desk, with the electric typewriter still powered off and smelling faintly of hot ink. I'd been pounding away at the thing all morning, in a way that I'd ''wished'' I could do to a certain somebody. It needed a rest. ''I'' needed a rest. And I didn't know how.
 +
 +
The first thing I needed to do was reassure Bass that help was going to come, somehow. But I needed to know a few things that he wasn't able to tell me. First, I grabbed the little phone directory from the corner of my desk and flipped through it until I could find the number for PSPD public information, which I tapped into the keypad on my desk phone.
 +
 +
On the other end of the line was a desk clerk at some random precinct in town. While she wasn't able to tell me anything about recent bookings, she did help me figure out which precinct served the boardwalk area, and who to call there. I thanked her (which was hard, with my mood being the way it was), hung up, and dialed Precinct 20's front desk.
 +
 +
"PSPD, twentieth precinct," greeted a tired-sounding duty sergeant. "I'm sorry, we can't discuss cases in progress over this line."
 +
 +
"Cases in progress? What the hell?"
 +
 +
"Oh, sh-- uh, I'm sorry, ma'am, I thought you were somebody else." His attitude changed entirely in one sentence. "What can I do for you?"
 +
 +
As much as I wanted to press on his little slip-up, and figure out who he thought was calling, this wasn't the time. I needed more pertinent information right now. "This is Pacific Daily News, Crime desk, Travaglia speaking. I need information about a recent detainee."
 +
 +
"The department liaison should have given you all the information fit to print," he deflected immediately. I shouldn't have said I was from the paper.
 +
 +
"I need to know if you have anybody named Bastion Crowley booked right now."
 +
 +
"Crowley? ...Crowley... Cr--ah, OK, that guy. Yeah, booked him in last night. What's this for, anyway?"
 +
 +
"Where's your precinct located?"
 +
 +
"Oh, uh, on the east side of state highway 80, near the boardwalk."
 +
 +
"Alright. Expect me soon, then."
 +
 +
"Soon? How soon--" I hung up on him without elaborating.
  
 
=== Bass flashback number 1 ===
 
=== Bass flashback number 1 ===

Revision as of 10:25, 29 July 2022

I'm so confused, I cannot see / This wave of guilt is drowning me

It feels like blood is on my hands / I'd give it all for a second chance

--Royksopp - "I Had This Thing"

This page is pretty unfinished. Weasel plans to get to it eventually. Probably.

Really Vague Outline

okay - case 4, i figure, is going to be the one where ruby takes center stage. there's a number of ways i've thought about as far as how to actually handle ruby's internal monologue. i know for sure ruby will be a bit more coarse than bastion, more prone to swearing. i've thought about having someone else write her monologue but i'm not sure anybody knows the character better than i do. i guess i'll have to consider it a writing challenge.

basic premise of case 4: bastion is hired by a concerned newly-wed husband (to a woman who has been in a previous marriage). though bastion doesn't entirely agree with the idea of background-checking a woman immediately after marrying them, the husband comes clean with the reason why: he discovered that his new wife owns beachfront property. he did just marry his wife for her money (without figuring out where it came from) and that's why he hires bastion to look into it.

bastion goes to investigate the beachfront property and finds that, beneath the exterior of it being a barely-used-but-well-maintained beach house, the house's basement is full of marijuana plants with an elaborate irrigation system. bastion leaves, taking one sample of the plants in a bag to use as evidence.

however, upon getting out the house, the police are there and nab him for PWID (possession with intent to distribute).

why were the cops waiting? two reasons: first, bastion missed the security system (silent alarm), and second, there's a nosy lady across the street that saw him picking the locks.

thusly, bastion decides to use his one phone call to get in touch with ruby, who does rather seem to hate him by the end of case 3. she's not happy to hear from him, particularly not that he's gotten himself arrested, but she eventually agrees to go meet bastion in jail.

This page is pretty unfinished. Weasel plans to get to it eventually. Probably.

The Disjointed Chunks of Plot

The new cold open

It was half past nine when the Line 44 pulled up to the stop called Boardwalk. It was the only bus stop that served this neighborhood, on this side of the highway, and even its name wasn't all that accurate. The actual boardwalk along the beach was still a half-mile's walk down the hill, and around a bend full of beachfront houses. But also, the actual boardwalk had been half-removed, as most of the wood in it was starting to rot and was due for replacement.

I had arrived here about two hours too late to see the sunset, but my night-owl instincts were kicking back in. This part of town didn't have a ton of street lights, and only the sound of the ocean reminded me where I was. I couldn't see out to the beach from here, despite going down hill. I held up my pocket notebook to the one light near me and double checked the address I'd written down. Number 83, Sand Dollar Court. The street kept going for another quarter mile and ended in a cul de sac, with a small parking place cut into one side that provided the only real break between the beach houses. The thing was only enough to hold about six cars. It probably used to fit eight, before the City required them to provide at least two van-accessible spots for wheelchair users. Though that was a token gesture at best; getting down to the beach required the use of a single narrow cobblestone staircase, with only a rope nailed to the wall to use as a hand rail. No ramps, no guard rails. I pitied whatever wheelchair-user came here expecting to actually go to the beach.

Just on the other side of the parking lot was house number 83. It didn't stand out a lot under its own merits; it was - as near as I could tell in this light - a dark brown beach house with two levels. The upper level was up a short flight of 5 stairs from street level, into a yellow door with no window or peep hole. There was a second door next to those stairs, that I figured would go into a semi-basement level, probably cut down into the beach wall. Most of the windows were upstairs, and the car-park was a little covered square of pavement off to the other side of the house, barely large enough to fit a family sedan, let alone a van or motorhome.

The rest of the neighborhood, at this time of night, had their lights off. Maybe one or two houses further down the way were watching late-night movies, but I guess once you'd seen the sunset around here, there was not much reason to stay up late. But I wasn't being tailed for now, and I didn't have the feeling anybody was looking out their windows. It was time to set to work on what the client had asked me for.

I stuffed a hand into the pocket of my Air Force jacket, making sure the little disposable camera I bought was still in there. From the other pocket, I got out the little container of paper clips. I'd lifted it weeks ago from a certain somebody's broom closet at the paper. He wouldn't miss it, and I'd get more use out of them than he ever did. They bent to my will and whim, into the shape of an improvised lockpick, just like I'd done so many times before.

The lock on the basement door was nothing special; it was a cheap brand that I knew copied their designs off of a bigger company. While the lock cores always had channels cut for 6 pins, very frequently only four of them were populated with pins and springs. Most of that didn't matter anyway, as this style was susceptible to the most trivial attack in the book. Tensioning the lock with a thin metal zipper pull, I raked my improvised pick over the pins until none of them were resetting or binding. In seconds, the lock turned to the open position, and the door was now open to me.

As I stepped into the basement staircase, my nose caught a scent of something warm. Even though the car park was empty, and the lights were all off upstairs, something was still switched on down here. I tread quietly down the stairs - they were all padded with shag carpet, as if to lead down to a den or party room - and ended up in what I could only describe as a greenhouse, except that any windows whatsoever had been covered with blackout curtains, taped to the walls to stop them moving. The carpeting ended at the bottom stair, with the floor covering having been rolled up into a corner. It smelled musty, dirty, and very faintly skunky. But the real elephant in the room was that the lights were still on. And not the overheads. Arrays of heat lamps, clamped to aluminum planter boxes, were aimed at a large spread of greenery, all hooked up and irrigated from branching hoses that all converged on a bathroom faucet from one room over.

I looked closer at the plants themselves. I didn't recognize the species at first, but could only figure there was one kind of plant that someone would grow indoors, under cover of darkness. This was great stuff. The client would love it. I took a few photos for good measure, then I plucked a single five-pointed leaf off the nearest plant to me, and sandwiched it between two blank pages in my pocket notebook. I'd want to get that to the library later on and see if my suspicions were correct.

As much as I could be sure that this was evidence that something was going on in this beach house, right under the client's nose, I didn't figure it was worth sticking around for long to confirm anything else. I crept up the shag basement stairs again, but was only halfway up them when I noticed the door was open. I hadn't recalled leaving it open, but I didn't think I'd remembered to close it either. When I crested the fifth to last step, though, a bright light beamed directly in my face. I ducked on reflex, but the noise I heard was that of a pistol being racked.

"C'mon up, now, I know you're down there," came an authoritative voice with a slight Southern drawl. "Get them hands on your head and come out, easy like." There was an engine idling just outside the door, but I couldn't see who was talking. My only real option was to follow directions. The man at the top of the stairs, whose face I still couldn't see by the time I approached, spun me around and put me against the wall by the door. I felt something poking into the back of my head, probably the gun, followed by a man's hand running up and down the sides of my coat and jeans. The very first thing he got out of my pocket was the camera, followed immediately by the case of paper clips, and then the pocket notebook. "Well, boy, wonder what you were gonna do with this?" It sounded like he was sniffing at the leaf. "Hey, McKeown, think we got one for possession here," he called out the door. I didn't hear a reply, only a pair of handcuffs being drawn off of somebody's belt. They snapped tight over my wrists, and I was unceremoniously shoved into the caged back seat of a police cruiser.

From a different perspective

The Pacific Daily News Police Blotter is compiled daily, from data kindly provided by the PSE Police Department. It is edited for readability by PDN's Antonia Travaglia. Suspects' names are not provided by the Department for the sake of privacy, and suspects are presumed innocent until proven guilty in court before a jury.

  • Two police officers were summoned to a diner on the corner of 27th and Sofer, in response to a suspected dine-and-dash. The customer was advised of their rights, but the diner's proprietor has declined to press charges.
  • An officer on patrol happened upon a domestic dispute in progress. Both parties were advised to stop, politely declined to do so, and are now in custody.
  • Two officers in a patrol vehicle near the Boardwalk were summoned to stop an attempted burglary in progress. The burglar was caught, and upon discovery of drug paraphernalia, and tools intended for use in picking locks, surrendered to police and is now in custody.

The electric typewriter was beginning to smell hot from all the damn rewrites I was shoving through it, so I switched it off and pulled my draft out of the roller, setting it aside on my desk to hand to the editor in chief in a few minutes. I let my head roll backwards to stretch my neck. I'd been hunched over the keys for an hour straight, with only a brief interlude on the phone with the department liaison to receive last night's briefs. As soon as I had put my hands on my arm rests to push myself out of my office chair, the desk phone rang again.

"Pacific Daily News, crime section," I answered immediately, assuming it would be the liaison again. The voice I heard back was not the man I expected, though.

"Ruby, that you?" It wasn't coming through very clear due to all the line noise, but it was definitely Bass.

"Thought I told you you didn't need to come in today," I told him. "I gotta keep this line open just in case--"

"No, trust me Ruby, this is way more important. They got me." His voice was stuck in the kind of urgent tone I almost never heard him use.

"They? Who?"

"The cops, damn it!" he yelled. "I'm in a holding cell at..." He must have held the receiver away from his mouth for a moment. "Which precinct is this?" A brief pause. "They won't tell me which precinct. Near the boardwalk, though."

The fuck was he doing at the boardwalk? ...I didn't even have to ask. It was another of his cases, he'd tell me. "What have you told them?"

"Nothing so far."

"Good man. Keep that tongue sealed until your public defender shows up. They charge you with anything yet?"

"Breaking and entering, and possession with intent to distribute." That deadpan grumble of his made it sound less severe than it likely was. "Half of that's bull, for the record," he said under his breath.

"Son of a bitch." They were going to turn it into a drug thing, I knew it. Easiest convictions in the county.

"Listen, Ruby, I don't think I'm gonna have time to wait for a public defender, and you're the only one I can trust with this case. I need you to get in touch with my client."

"No no no, Bass, I can't, I've got paperwork coming out of my ass." Shit was too busy around here for me to just come get him on a whim, but beyond that, he still hadn't paid me back for that pro bono case a couple months back. Or the fucking scene he caused in my office the week before. I didn't hate the guy, but I wasn't too keen on jumping back into working with him without ironing out that baggage.

"You can't? Well, who the hell else am I gonna call?" His voice got louder again in only half a sentence.

I realized I hadn't actually said any of those things to him. "Here's the thing, alright? You said you'd owe me after last time."

"That I did," he confirmed without a hint of shame.

"And here you are, begging another favor, while I'm still trying to play catch-up."

I heard a sigh over the receiver. "Look, Ruby, at this rate I would fucking die for you to make it up."

I almost wanted to tell him that maybe he should, but part of me wanted to show him some mercy today. That part of me was going to get me in some serious trouble one of these days. "If I help you out, what can you offer me?"

"God, are we gonna make this a material thing now? Alright. How about a cut of the profit?"

"Pfft. What profit?"

"From this case I was working. Hell, I'll let you take the whole paycheck."

"Again, what profit? Weren't you saying last month that you're barely keeping your rent paid?"

"You know, Ruby, I'm at a big disadvantage here. I owe you a ton for your help last month, but obviously I don't have a way to do that right now, because I'm stuck in a goddamn holding cell!" I hated hearing Bass this upset, especially when he was upset at me in particular. That finally flipped my switch.

"Boardwalk, you said?"

"Somewhere around there, yeah." It would almost scare me how good he was at sounding calm, after having just yelled at me, but I'd seen scarier things before.

"Well--" I sensed a dark presence rounding the corner, bright colors coming off the cubicle walls across the aisle. "Ugh. I gotta put you on hold for a sec, don't go anywhere."

"Don't go any--ha, ha, you're funny! You--" I hit the hold button and set the receiver flat on my desk, just in time for Albert Cervantes to poke his head into my cube.

"Antonia, we need to talk," began the least comforting voice in the world.

"Yeah? What do you think I did this time?" I was making a point of not looking at him. My stare was focused on the typewriter.

"Packet four in this stack. You've got the name completely wrong and there's a typo in the second paragraph."

I folded my arms in front of me. "Just keeping you on your toes. I can't do all your work for you, y'know, plus if there's any problems with it, it's your name on the line, not mine."

Albert dropped his stack of papers back on my desk. It was the same stack as yesterday, only now with more angry little red marks in the margins. He probably loved every second he spent making those. "Well, you're going to have to do them again."

"Aye-aye, cap'n," I replied with a lazy mock-salute, still not looking at him.

Albert paused for a moment. "What, you're not going to argue about it?"

"No point in it. If I agree with you, it gets you to go away faster."

"I suspect you've got some kind of prior engagement in the works." His half-chrome-dome entered into my field of view. "And I'd bet it has something to do with whoever's waiting for you to pick your phone back up. Is that your boyfriend again?"

"He's not my fucking boyfriend," I began. I wanted to tell him he was in a holding cell, but I couldn't even start the sentence before he grabbed the phone off the desk and jabbed at the Hold button.

He cleared his throat into the mouthpiece. "You've reached the Pacific Daily News. Unfortunately, the person at this desk is unable to spare the time for you right now, so please call back at a later occasion." He dropped the phone onto the hook and watched it bounce and clatter a bit, then spun my chair to face him and looked me directly in the eyes. "Personal phone calls are for personal time, Antonia."

"That wasn't a personal goddamn call." The Heat was beginning to well up in my chest again, and my eye was starting to twitch.

"Not my problem, Antonia. Your boyfriend can call back later."

"He's not my fucking--You just hung up on a detainee in police custody! You know the law around here, he gets one phone call before they put him in the cell!"

"Still not my problem..."

"I don't give a shit if it's your problem or not! You forget what desk I work for? I'll give you a hint, it's not yours!"

"Have these revised and retyped by lunch," said Albert, as he completely ignored me and wandered back to his broom closet.

My entire face, and both of my fists, were scrunched up in pure rage. That fucking asshole desperately needed to be punched flat, but he had this unfortunate talent for making every incident look like it was my fault. Worse, my "impartial" witness wasn't around to record it for me, because he managed to get thrown in a cell last night. The mountain of paperwork was going to bury me before I had a chance to crawl out from under it, and damn it, Bass needed my help, as much as I thought he was an asshole, too, for daring to beg another favor without paying the last one back. I don't know. Maybe I'd forgive it all if he'd just take me to dessert or something. Anything to try to spark some happiness in me after so long off my path.

I spun the chair back towards my desk, with the electric typewriter still powered off and smelling faintly of hot ink. I'd been pounding away at the thing all morning, in a way that I'd wished I could do to a certain somebody. It needed a rest. I needed a rest. And I didn't know how.

The first thing I needed to do was reassure Bass that help was going to come, somehow. But I needed to know a few things that he wasn't able to tell me. First, I grabbed the little phone directory from the corner of my desk and flipped through it until I could find the number for PSPD public information, which I tapped into the keypad on my desk phone.

On the other end of the line was a desk clerk at some random precinct in town. While she wasn't able to tell me anything about recent bookings, she did help me figure out which precinct served the boardwalk area, and who to call there. I thanked her (which was hard, with my mood being the way it was), hung up, and dialed Precinct 20's front desk.

"PSPD, twentieth precinct," greeted a tired-sounding duty sergeant. "I'm sorry, we can't discuss cases in progress over this line."

"Cases in progress? What the hell?"

"Oh, sh-- uh, I'm sorry, ma'am, I thought you were somebody else." His attitude changed entirely in one sentence. "What can I do for you?"

As much as I wanted to press on his little slip-up, and figure out who he thought was calling, this wasn't the time. I needed more pertinent information right now. "This is Pacific Daily News, Crime desk, Travaglia speaking. I need information about a recent detainee."

"The department liaison should have given you all the information fit to print," he deflected immediately. I shouldn't have said I was from the paper.

"I need to know if you have anybody named Bastion Crowley booked right now."

"Crowley? ...Crowley... Cr--ah, OK, that guy. Yeah, booked him in last night. What's this for, anyway?"

"Where's your precinct located?"

"Oh, uh, on the east side of state highway 80, near the boardwalk."

"Alright. Expect me soon, then."

"Soon? How soon--" I hung up on him without elaborating.

Bass flashback number 1

It was about the only time I could recall ever seeing Ruby in tears. "Hey, what happened?" She didn't say anything, just buried her head in her arms on the cafeteria table. We were the only students still in here; a custodian was busily wiping down and folding all the tables. Thinking I was in any way capable of consoling her, I had a seat next to her along the bench. "I know this isn't about the usual crowd. Travis Higgins isn't even here today, he skipped."

Ruby just mumbled something through her arms. Her hair was a mess, moreso even than usual. It was hard to tell, without seeing her face, if she was on the verge of collapse, or on the verge of detonation. She must have realized I didn't hear her, the first time; she lifted her head just enough to glance at me through the crook of her elbow, and said, firmly but sorrowfully, "Fuck off."

I put on the most concerned face I could - I wasn't sure how well I emoted, normally - and lowered my head to her level. "Look, I'm your friend. It's my job to care about what's going on with you, especially when it's got you this upset."

She didn't even need to lift her head up for me to understand her next words. "I have to move back fucking east, alright? My asshole, deadbeat, son of a bitch dad, won his fucking court case!"

"Court case?!" It was the first I'd heard about anything court-related going on with her. I had known she'd had to be out of class a lot this month, at least, but not why.

"The court's taking me away from Mama. I'm almost 15! I don't need this shit right now!"

I put a hand right on her back. "Damn right you don't, where do those assholes get off, anyway?"

She gasped for air between sobs. I didn't have my handkerchief on me, so I was forced to watch as she fruitlessly wiped her face with her shirt sleeve. "It's just not fucking fair! I thought I should have been allowed to choose!"

What even happened in that court room?

Finlay flashback number 1

"Cry me a fuckin river, girlie, now that you ain't living with that bird, I'll make sure you pick up some manners worth having," he slurred. With all the airs he put on in court, Finlay could have almost been mistaken for somebody who cared, but that all went out with the bath water as soon as we got home. "Once you've spent a week or so here and we've checked in with that lawyer, I'll be getting you that paperwork to change that name of yours, too."

"Antonia suits me just fine, thank you," I slightly lied.

"No it fuckin doesn't. It's an artifact of that broad who named you after she scarpered. I ain't gonna hang on to any reminder of her, thank you. You're gonna be a Callahan."

"Way I heard it, it was just the opposite."

"Don't get fuckin smart with me, girlie."

"She only skipped town because she was afraid of you, and from what I'm seeing so far--"

Slap. That's one. "That's horse shite and you know it."

"Then tell me why you waited until I was 15 to come get me."

Slap. That's two.

Meeting Finlay at the Cop Shop

"The department declares you free to go, Mr. Callahan. We're sorry for the misunderstanding."

Callahan... no, it couldn't be. But against all the God forsaken odds, it was. I tried not to meet eyes with him, but the second he turned my way, it felt like I'd just been cattle prodded. The chatter and commotion of the holding area vanished. All the lights in the room seemed to turn a disturbing shade of orange as any other nearby witnesses almost froze in time, forcibly unaware of any impending disaster. The lanky, badly nourished Irish man, with the pointed red goatee and old parka, looked like he must have aged three decades since I last saw him. The look on his face was not a happy one. To be fair, mine probably wasn't, either. He marched my way with the intensity of a towering monster, until he was only a few feet away. "Antonia."

I couldn't think of a single thing to say to him. Nothing I said could be let out on its own. I'd leak out a cavalcade of hurtful cusses his way along with it.

"It's been ten years, hasn't it? How's your mother been?" His face was not lightening, despite the careful and measured tone. Even most of his accent had gone away.

"Well enough," I offered flatly. Better without you around. I struggled to keep my expression neutral. I really did want to punch him, but not in the police station.

"Well, next time you see her, tell her Finlay said hello." With that, Finlay Callahan trudged up the stairs from the holding cells, and back to whatever freedom he'd just earned himself.

My right eye twitched in a way I hadn't felt in a long while. Why the hell was my father back in town? Who did he think he was, trying to get back into my life? Was he insane?

To Trust Albert, Or Not?

"Well, that's rich," I groused. "Friend's in a holding cell under bullshit charges, his notebook that I need is being held as evidence, and now YOU decide it's time to make amends and work with me? Pass the salt, why don't ya."

"So you don't believe me. I'd figured as much." Albert shrugged his shoulders in that disappointed way that asshole fathers would tend to do. "Well, I'm not here to argue with you, but I can tell you that there are things that I can help you with."

"You've literally never offered me help, with anything, ever. Why start now? Is this what you'd consider my moment of weakness, or something?"

"The little I've heard about your case, says that you're planning to look into some beach front property along the northwest end of town. I know a few people around there, and it will be easier for me to put them in contact with you, than for you to make the introductions yourself. They are not so easily trusting of strangers."

Well, he had one thing right, at least; the fact that somebody was already calling the cops the second that Bass got near that house was point number one in my theory on this case. Coastal communities were always a gold mine for the sorts of NIMBYs who'd sic the Homeowner's Association on you if you so much as looked at their dog the wrong way. That kind of behavior, coupled with the cops generally not liking tourists very much (never mind that it's literally the same town all the way to the beach, and we both fucking LIVE HERE), would make it very easy to get Bass arrested, even without a charge that'd stick. And I hated to admit it, but Albert did have a point.

"Who were you planning to get me in touch with?" I asked. It was a serious question, but I didn't let up on the stink-eye just yet. Didn't want him to think I trusted him that fast.

"Well, I've got an old family friend up there, and she called me this morning crying about the scary burglar she saw last night. She told me she had to call the police about it. Now, I didn't hear the whole conversation--" Read: he was literally eavesdropping on the conversation from the start and was trying to make himself sound good, "--but it sounds like your man was just detained on a breaking and entering charge. Have I got that right?"

I stink-eyed harder, enough that my cheek twitched a bit. "Yeah. Among other things."

"So, I need only make a phone call to inform miss Marjorie that she should expect a freelance attorney..." I hated that he knew that about me. "...to be coming to visit her in regards to her situation. It will give her time to mentally prepare, and the visit shouldn't be as shocking to her."

I was of two minds about that. From personal experience, I already knew that trying to ask questions about a stressful situation was not easy, and was even less so when the person in question is in a panic over some stranger coming in and demanding answers. On the flip side, I couldn't be fully sure that Albert wasn't going to just warn her about me and put her on guard. And it's a lot like Bastion said: be wary of any witnesses whose answers sound too rehearsed.

I shook my head at Albert. "No, don't bother."

Court Date

"You want THIS, right?" Ruby slaps a badge on the judge's podium. "Just because you don't like the way I behave, doesn't mean I didn't pass the bar."

"I should find you in contempt." His face exudes the kind of disgust that can only come from a deeply seated grudge.

"Well, do it. But if you do, then this man doesn't have a defender," she counters with a sweeping gesture towards me. "And I know you, Your Honor, you like things to be fair in your domain, but you also like them to be finished on time. Boot ME from your courtroom, and this man has to wait weeks for a public defender to be available."

"He's a smart boy. He can defend himself." Judge Hammond looks in my direction. "You can defend yourself, right?"

"You do NOT have to answer that," Ruby calls out to me. Her gaze now locked to the judge's, she continues. "He's not going to defend himself against a district attorney. I am. Now unless you want to slap me with a bogus charge or two, I would like to get this man off the hook."

"We will just have to see about that." The judge folds his hands. "Let the record show that the court declines to charge the counsel with contempt. We proceed with the trial as scheduled." He pushes his reading glasses up his nose to intensify his glare. "You may be seated now, counsel."

Ruby marches confidently back to our desk, flashing a quick "I'm watching you" gesture at both the judge and the DA. I'm not sure either of them noticed it. She plops right into the seat next to me with a grin. "That should set the tone nicely, I think," she whispers to me.

"Some kind of history between you two, I take it," I ask back.

"It was his vote that barred me from practicing as a DA. And when it's a judge's vote, well, that gets around."

"That's why this isn't your regular job?"

"Yup." She's still focusing her glare on the judge while hissing out the corner of her mouth. "Because that fucker up there warned every private practice in town that my personality was inappropriate for the court."

"You don't worry that's going to slant the case against us?"

"Pff. Like it wouldn't have been already. The judge talks the big talk about being Fair and Impartial, but I look at his conviction record every damn day. Dunno how he does it, but every single case he's presided over, the defendant gets found guilty."

"Even before a jury?"

"I think he's got some kind of intimidation game going. The defense comes off really limp and ineffectual and I think it's because somebody's been warning them not to fight back."

"But because you're an outsider..."

"Hey, I prefer the term 'independent operator.' But you're right. They didn't have the time to find out that it'd be me defending you before today. And they're gonna fucking regret it. And all you have to do is be smart about what you're telling them when they're asking their questions. Remember, they're going to try to catch you off guard. They want you to say too much. Especially the guy at that other table. I've seen him in action."

Legacy Script, Or What Exists Of Such

# ########################
# ## CASE 4 BEGINS HERE ##
# ########################

label Case4Start:
    "Hey, uh, Weasel here. Not much to the case for the moment but here's something I wrote up earlier..."
    
    scene bg NullScene
    with fade
    "Wait a second, who the hell does Bastion think he is, getting me to do him another favor for another stupid case? I can't believe I'm still talking to this guy!"
    r "You said you'd owe me."
    b "That I did."
    r "Not the other way around."
    b "I will not deny that."
    r "So why are you asking me for another favor?"
    b "Look, at this rate, I would practically die for you to make it up to you."
    "Maybe you should, I want to tell him, but my less-Italian half actually wants to show him some compassion. I swear, that's gonna get me killed, eventually."
    r "Alright, if I help you out, what can you give me in return?"
    b "How about you take a cut of the profits?"
    r "What profits?"
    b "Like...most of them?"
    r "Again, what profits? You told me your cases barely made you enough money to pay the rent."
    b "I'm at a pretty hefty disadvantage here, you know. I owe you a lot for helping out last time, but I'm not exactly in a position where I can do anything about it. I'm in jail, remember?"
    r "You can rot."
    b "What? Bu--"
    "I sense a dark presence rounding the corner of my cubicle. A presence that reeks of cheap cologne and wears a shirt so loudly colored that I can see it reflecting off a nearby wall."
    r "Actually, don't hang up. I'm gonna put you on hold."
    b "Gee, thanks."
    "I hit the Hold button and put the phone on the desk, just a split second before Albert walks in. Great timing."
    al "Antonia, there's a typo on paragraph three."
    r "Yep."
    al "That's it? You're not going to argue with me?"
    r "Just figured I'd keep you on your toes, given it's {i}your{/i} job and all."
    al "...."
    "For once, Albert is speechless. Ordinarily he'd yell at me some more."
    r "Anything else you plan on blaming on me, sir?"
    al "...You don't usually call me sir. Something's wrong."
    r "You don't usually have enough empathy to recognize that sort of thing, so something must {i}really{/i} be wrong."
    al "I bet it has something to do with whoever's on that phone. Boyfriend?"
    r "What do you care?"
    "Albert doesn't stop and listen, and grabs the phone from my desk, hitting the flashing Hold button."
    al "I know you two are probably a happy couple, but that's for non-work hours. Miss Travaglia here has very important matters to attend to, so I suggest you call back at a later occasion."
    "With that, he hangs up, not waiting for a response from the other line."
    al "Personal matters are for personal time, Antonia."
    "He throws his stack of papers on the desk hard enough that they come completely unsorted."
    al "I need these copy-edited by the end of your shift. I don't care how long that ends up taking, I don't want you leaving this cubicle until it's done. Put it on the Chief's desk when you're done."
    r "Albert, the man you just hung up on is in a holding cell down at the police department."
    "Doing my best to contain my rage here."
    al "Like I said, your personal matters can be dealt with later."
    r "That doesn't even begin to meet the definition of \"personal.\" You forget which desk I actually work for. I'll give you a hint, it's not yours."
    al "He can call back if it's so important."
    r "Forgot your state law so fast, Albert? You get one phone call before being put in the holding cell. One."
    al "Not my problem, Antonia."
    r "I'll give you a fuckin' problem."
    "My fist uncontrollably jerks in the direction of his nose, sending him - and a stream of nasal blood - across the narrow corridor and into a nearby cube wall."
    "He doesn't look like he's getting up from that."
    al "Antonia, are you listening to me?"
    # screen flashes, revealing Albert still standing there
    "...Damned overactive imagination. Well, it's probably a good thing I didn't {i}actually{/i} punch him, in any case."
    r "Maybe, maybe not. Run it by me again and I'll let you know for sure."
    "He lets out that frustrated sigh that I usually only hear from mothers talking to their irritating children."
    al "I said to have these papers copy-edited and on the Chief's desk before you leave today."
    r "Aye-aye, cap'n."
    "I give him the mockingest salute possible as he wafts away to his converted janitor's closet."
    "...No, you know what, I'm through with this shit."
    "Given the choice between doing Albert's dirty work for another entire evening and missing dinner with Ma as a result..."
    "...and going on a vacation, working on a mystery, and potentially getting myself killed..."
    "...There's no way I'm gonna be skimming this stack of papers for typos and spelling mistakes."
    "Time to take matters into my own hands. I grab the stack from my desk - completely untouched - and make for the Chief's office."
    eic "Antonia? I wasn't expecting your work on my desk until tomorrow morning."
    r "Not my work, boss. Al wanted me to do it all for him."
    eic "Seriously? That's overstepping boundaries, even for him."
    r "Well, like hell am I going to do this much stuff in one night."
    eic "I sympathize with you, Antonia, I really do, but this stuff has to get done."
    "...Fuckin' brown-noser has the chief in his pocket."
    r "It can get done by somebody else, alright? I got more important shit to do than making sure Mrs. Klebitz's dead husband's name isn't misspelled."
    eic "Is it misspelled? I might have to issue a correction."
    r "Don't know, don't care. Look, I'm past my overtime already and I got places I need to be."
    "One mention of overtime gets him on my side."
    eic "Well, you sure are racking up a lot of overtime lately. We're going over budget because of it."
    r "All because of me?"
    eic "Well, you and a few others..."
    r "How about I lighten the load on your budget for once and take...let's say a week of vacation."
    eic "Unpaid?"
    r "Preferably paid, but you're the boss, boss."
    eic "...How about half pay?"
    r "Getting warmer..."
    eic "Oh, alright. Regular pay for eight hours a day for the next week. How's that sound?"
    "Much as I'd like to push for time-and-a-half, I know he's not gonna jump for that, so I'd better just take it and go."
    r "Thanks, chief."
    eic "See you next week, Antonia."
    "I waltz out of the chief's office, aglow with a happiness I haven't felt in a while. I shoot Albert a grin and another mock-salute through his open door, to which he responds by struggling to get out from behind his too-tight work desk, cursing up a storm as he accidentally spills his own coffee on himself in the process."
    "Serves him right."
    
    "The streets are almost traffic-free. I'm a bit nostalgic of the city at night."
    "I used to ride along in Rick's cab some nights. He'd switch off the meter, drive around at random, we'd chat..."
    "...Wish things could have worked out better between us."
    "I'm pretty sure it's not really my fault we broke up. Not even his fault."
    "We just weren't for each other."
    "If you don't mind me saying, though, I really don't see how we could have had a very healthy relationship after what happened back when I was in college..."
    "I mean, Rick's cab was the only way I could get to and from campus. God knows, Mom was too cheap to fork over the cash to pay for a dorm room for me."
    "Except I never had the money to pay the cab fare...and, well, what other ways could a girl like me pay off a tab like that?"
    "The thought of it actually has me laughing a bit as I drive, but I couldn't tell you if I actually thought it was funny or not."
    "And as far as this monologue goes...I'm not even sure who I'm talking to, but I trust you'll keep it out of Bastion's ears, yeah?"

    "I'm at the police station in 20 minutes."
    "I don't want Bastion to think I went out of my way, so I hang out in the lobby for ten minutes before consulting the desk sergeant about access to the holding cells."
    "Some old magazines sitting around. One of them is a swimsuit issue. I wouldn't mind giving it a read - and I mean a {i}read{/i} - but it's impossible to open.{w} Damn, this must have been someone else's inside the force. Ugh."
    "I accidentally rip it. Really. Honest."
    "The ripped bits go into the trash. Hope nobody wanted it back."
    # later, in jail...
    
    "It's honestly kind of pathetic to see Bass in the little holding cell by himself."
    ""
return